King Under The Mountain
by AthosAtTanagra
Summary: After the battle for Erebor is won, Fili lies in a sleep between life and death, Kili waits with increasing frustration for his uncle to give his blessing to his union with Tauriel, and Thorin faces the unwanted responsibility of finding a Queen and providing an heir to the line of Durin.
1. Chapter 1

"It is good to make these halls a home at last," Thorin said, looking below at the stream of dwarves coming back to the mountain. Dwarves, and dwarves' wives and families. Little ones, that stared open mouthed, clutching at their mothers' hands and skirts, or running ahead boisterously despite the calls of warning.

"It's certainly a lot louder," said Kili.

Together with Balin, they descended the steps until they were at the head of the great hall, a royal welcome committee for those that we coming to make Erebor their home. Thorin, still leaning rather heavily on his younger nephew's shoulder, tried not to wince at the burn in his side, a little parting gift from Azog's last moments. It had been more than five months since the battle for Erebor and his wounds were deep and slow to heal.

Dwarves came and bowed, and the King under the Mountain shook their hands and listened while they presented their families. These were all skilled dwarves who had once called Erebor home. They would work hard to make it home and heaven once again.

Thorin looked sideways at Balin, remembering their earlier conversation. Fili lay alive yet dead to the world in a chamber above. Kili's request to be pledged to the Mirkwood she-elf echoed daily in Thorin's ears. He'd promised his nephew he would consider it, and he was starting to see that if he didn't want to lose Kili, he would have to give in. And soon.

And that brought Thorin back to Balin's words on the morning. "Your people look to you to provide an heir."

He hadn't shouldered that responsibility in over eighty years, since Fili was born, and it rested heavily on him now.

"It is said that Dain's cousin by marriage has grown into a lovely lass, a skilled healer and proper dwarven lady," Balin had continued. "You need only give the word, Thorin, and I shall write to Dain with an invitation for her to visit. That's all," Balin added diplomatically with a cunning raise of his white eyebrows. "Just a visit."

Thorin felt tired and worn. His wounds were slow to heal, yet his responsibilities increased daily. The demands the people made of him left him no time or taste for courting. Kili was doing his best to help, yet his heart was divided. He would never commit to the Mountain until the she-elf was by his side, accepted by his kin. And while Thorin felt himself relenting towards them, he knew that winning other dwarves acceptance would be an upward battle for Kili.

If only Fili were to wake. Thorin sighed with frustration.

"Write the letter," he'd said to Balin.

Standing in the great hall now, with the rows of dwarves pouring in, Thorin shook his head and focused once more on the task at hand. What was done was done. If he didn't focus on his duties, on his work, he felt he would be swept away by a tide beyond his control.

...

As soon as Thorin released him from his duties Kili shouldered his backpack and headed into Dale. He knew his uncle needed time, but Kili's frustration at being separated from Tauriel increased daily.

"Why can't she stay within Erebor?" he'd argued with his uncle. "She belongs with me, and I with her." If his uncle didn't make up his mind soon, Kili knew he would leave the Mountain behind. He'd go anywhere, anywhere at all as long as they could be together.

The streets of Dale were crowded. Just like Erebor, repairs to Dale were well under way. So many people had moved in already, a surprisingly mixed group of Men and Dwarves. Kili hoped it would stay that way, and the dwarves would not retreat into Erebor once repairs were completed.

He found Tauriel at their set meeting place. It was not crowded there, on the secluded parapets facing the lake. She had her back to him and he walked to her and touched his fingers to her arm.

"Tauriel," he whispered. She turned and he saw briefly the look of sadness that had been in her eyes, before they lit up and she said his name. Their hands clasped and he brought one of hers to his lips. Nothing felt as right as this. Nothing. He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent.

"I've missed you."

"And I you."

They walked along the walls and talked together until the sun disappeared behind the horizon. It was unbearably sweet and frustrating to be near her. Being so close and yet so far. He wanted more than this tentative holding of hands, and he knew she wanted it too, and yet he'd promised his uncle they would wait on his word. And the waiting and the uncertainty were torture.

...

Thorin stood above Fili's bed watching the shallow rise and fall of his nephew's chest. The sound of the door interrupted his gloomy thoughts. He looked up to see Balin in the doorway.

"Well?" Thorin asked.

"The letter's been sent."

"You don't waste much time," Thorin said bitterly.

"There is little of it _to_ waste, laddie."

Thorin nodded, a frown building between his brows. He could feel a headache coming, strong and piercing, and his wounds burned with fatigue.

"The seamstress is below," Balin said.

"What?"

"The banners for the great hall, My Lord," Balin reminded him patiently. "You said you wanted to give her directions yourself."

Thorin shook his head as if to clear it. He remembered now, and wished he had delegated the task. At this precise moment he cared not what the blasted banners looked like.

"I will go," he said and limped past Balin, who knew enough of his moods and temper not to offer assistance. He would do his duty.

He reached the hall out of breath, his head pounding. He could see the seamstress standing at the far end near the dais, directing her assistants into taking measurements. He would get this over with quickly and then perhaps take a half an hour to rest in his chambers, before he had to provide a stoic face for the first meeting of the new council.

The floor was still covered in a layer of melted gold, from their failed attempt to dispatch the dragon. As he walked across it, Thorin felt again the wave of disgust with himself, with what he had become as soon as he had first entered the mountain. The gold floor served as a reminder. It sickened him each time he walked across it. He meant to get rid of it, one of these days.

Hearing his laboured steps, the dwarf woman turned and bowed.

"Hail Thorin, son of Thrain, King under the Mountain," she said formally as if facing him as a foreign dignitary from the head of an army.

She was a head shorter than him, with pale golden hair braided intricately around her head, and no strands loose on her back and shoulders. She was not young, but her features were elegant, almost handsome. She wore no jewellery, neither in her hair nor her clothing, and while her dress looked deceivingly plain, it was enhanced by a subtle and beautiful pattern of embroidery.

Perhaps it was his tiredness, or the building frustration of the day's events that made him do it. He knew not what it was, but he regretted it as soon as it was done.

In response to her elaborate greeting, Thorin scoffed.

He watched her raise herself to her full height, which was not terribly high, and her left eyebrow go up almost to her hairline. Something flashed behind her golden eyes, but it was gone in an instant. Had he not been King under the Mountain, he had the suspicion she would skewer him with a look. It seemed the new Erebor seamstress was all sharp tools. He almost laughed at that thought, but thought better of giving her further offense.

She said not a word more, but watched him without any shred of embarrassment, waiting for him to speak.

Thorin fought an unfamiliar urge to squirm. He bowed his head deeply in sign of apology. With a flash of panic he realized he did not recall her name.

"Mistress ...," he started, hoping she would put him out of his misery. If he'd known how badly this interview would go, he would have delegated it for sure. All he could do now was try to get through it as quickly as possible without further slights.

"Aire," she said, with another bow of her head, "At your service."

"Thorin Oakenshield," he replied, "at yours."

Her eyebrow went up imperceptibly. Her head tilted to the side as she tried to make sense of his alternating disdain and politeness. She blinked once and the curiosity was gone from behind her eyes.

"The banners, my Lord," she said professionally, pivoting on the spot, her right arm making a graceful circle to point at the bare stone walls behind them.

"Yes," he conceded, relieved to get to business.

"What do you have in mind?"

Thorin stared at the stone, his mind as blank as the wall was bare. The silence lengthened.

"Do you _have _something in mind?"

"Not as such."

"But you requested to see me in person before the work commenced," she pointed out.

"Yes." There was nothing else to say. This was just one more sign of his inability to delegate properly.

"I will draw you a design," she said, not looking at him, but speaking to the wall. "What do you wish them to express? Opulence? Strength? Majesty?"

"Beauty," he found himself say, and glanced sideways at her.

"I see."

"What? What do you see?" his voice deceptively soft. He felt that she'd been testing him.

She turned to look at him unfazed.

"I will make your tapestries, King under the Mountain," she told him.

"It hadn't already been decided that you'd take on the job?" There was a trace of disbelief in his voice. His eyes narrowed.

"No. When I decided to move back to Erebor, I wondered."

"What did you wonder?"

"About the mind of the King," she said. "One hears such tales."

"And how do you find the mind of the King?"

Her eyes widened just a touch and her mouth curved with irony. He was toying with her and she knew it. She knew it and was not cowed.

"Free from Dragon sickness, it seems."

"It was not always so, Mistress Aire," he told her. He wondered why he felt the need to confess that to her.

She nodded, unsurprised. "I had heard of that also."

She bowed low and with a few words gathered her assistants to her.

"I will have drawings for your Majesty in two days."

She was dismissing him. Thorin thought he should be angry, but his mouth curved in a smile.

"Very well." He turned abruptly and walked out of the hall with as much dignity as his wounds allowed.


	2. Chapter 2

Thorin arrived in the council chambers feeling unsettled. Following the encounter with Mistress Aire, he'd tried to sneak to his chambers for twenty minutes of rest, but had run into Kili, returning from Dale, strung tight like an arrow on a bow. Their heated discussion had lasted more than necessary, and now both walked into the council chambers feeling worn out and frustrated.

Thorin limped heavily to his seat at the head of the table, while Kili took his place beside Balin on his right. An empty seat on his left was saved for Fili, if he should ever wake. Dwalin, Bofur and Gloin nodded at him from further down the table. Thorin sat down heavily and the three dozen dwarves gathered followed his lead.

Thorin took a moment to study the newcomers. They were the heads of the households of the newly arrived dwarvish families, the lords and ladies that would be his council, and he saw their looks were mixed, some curious, some mistrustful, some expectant. He sighed. He would have to win them over. He was tired and bone weary, but he gathered every ounce of his strength and began, for much hinged on this first meeting.

When, hours later, he finally reached the sanctum of his rooms, he disrobed with awkward and pained movements and dropped into his bed. His sleep of late had been disturbed with dreams of blood and orcs. Memories of the battle or Erebor lingering in his mind.

This night he dreamed of a council full of angry faces, both his nephews' chairs empty.

"You drove him away," Balin's reproving voice sounded in his ear.

"Kili!" Thorin shouted as he hobbled into the great hall, searching in vain for the young dwarf. Two tapestries hung on each side of the dais, elaborately embroidered in gold and red thread. One showed the Dragon and the other an immense hoard of gold.

"I thought you wanted opulent," Mistress Aire said beside him. He turned to her, shaking his head.

"No, I don't! Not anymore!"

"Prove it to me!"

He reached his hand out and curled his fingers around her neck. Her skin was soft and warm and she looked at him with an expression full of curiosity. Why hadn't he noticed how beautiful her eyes were? Like gold thread.

"I want them beautiful like your eyes," he said.

Suddenly Balin was behind him.

"Your queen is here," he said, and Thorin looked down the hall to where the great doors stood open and a figure stood silhouetted there. As she walked closer he saw that she was tall and slim and very elvish, but her hair was red and braided and she wore a strong resemblance to Dain Ironfoot. In fact, as she came closer, Thorin recognized it was Dain himself dressed in women's clothing.

"I heard you couldn't handle things yourself. They sent for me to help you out."

Thorin sat up in bed with a gasp.

"Oh, Mahal, I'm going mad!" he whispered, pushing his hair out of his face. His hands were shaking.

He rose and bathed, and at daybreak Balin found him in the hall already reviewing building permits and documents.

"Couldn't sleep?"

"Not for long," Thorin admitted.

"You need your rest, laddie. You've got a long way ahead of you." The old dwarf gestured around him. "This will only get harder before it gets easier."

"I need to win their trust, Balin."

"And you will, laddie, you will. But you need to pace yourself."

A low tremor ran beneath their feet, followed by the echoes of rock falling.

Thorin and Balin froze.

"What was that?" Thorin whispered urgently.

There were shouts and running footsteps and Bofur burst through the doors looking disheveled.

"One of the pillars in the old armoury gave way," he explained.

"Were there any dwarves in there?"

Bofur shook his head. "None. But there are new lodgings above. They would have felt it the most."

"Find the structural drawings," Thorin ordered. "I will meet you there." He took off as fast as his wounds permitted, with Balin in tow. The hall above the old armoury was crowded with dwarves in their slippers, nightgowns and caps.

Among them he was surprised to see was Mistress Aire. She was wearing a dressing gown and her hair was braided in one thick braid that fell down her back. Her cheeks were still rosy from sleep.

"What happened?" dwarves were asking. "Is it unsafe to stay here?"

Thorin quieted them down.

"A pillar collapsed on a level below you. I don't think there is danger of any other collapse, but until we've had a chance to investigate and start repairs, I want you all to take some belongings and move to another part of the mountain."

"Is it or isn't it unsafe?" someone yelled.

"Until I am sure, I will not risk anyone's lives." He tried to find the speaker in the crowd. "Take only what you need, and follow Balin to the upper terraces. Do it quickly."

They dispersed quietly for the most part, although there were some grumbles. Mistress Aire wrapped her dressing gown tighter and came towards him.

"There's no time for chit chat," he barked at her. "Gather your things!"

"Most of my things are in my workshop," she clarified. "And my workshop is on the other side of the mountain."

Thorin took a moment to absorb the meaning of her words. He frowned and almost growled in frustration. Would his problems never end? Did she have to bring up her chamber allocation dissatisfaction in the middle of this crisis? He balled his hands into fists, and opened his mouth to reply with a terse apology at her inconvenience, when he noticed she had put up her hand to silence him. His frown deepened.

"Surely this is not the time and place, my Lord," she said dismissively. "I only bring it up to explain why I do not need to get anything from my rooms. I believe you have other, more pressing concerns at hand," she gestured elegantly towards the hallway behind her. "So, without further _chit chat_, I will leave you to it." She bowed and walked away, leaving Thorin to stare at her retreating figure.

"Irritating woman," he muttered. Then Bofur and Gloin came rushing down the hall with the sketches and Thorin forced his thoughts to the crisis at hand.


	3. Chapter 3

When Mistress Aire swept into the hall the following day, Thorin, after another sleepless night, did not disguise his scowl.

The builders assured him the upper hall was not structurally unsafe, and while the repairs were underway he was not needed to pace around and scowl at the workers. Dwalin had been dispatched to remove the King under the Mountain and reposition him in his hall and have him "mind his own kingly business" as one of the builders had put it under his breath.

"Here to discuss your accommodations?" he asked her bitingly.

"No," she said, raising an eyebrow, "here to show you drawings." She watched him with outward composure, but her eyes were shooting daggers. "Perhaps I will come back when you are more civil."

Thorin blinked and ran a hand though his hair.

"No, stay," he pleaded, the harshness in his voice gone. "I apologize," he added and watched her raise both eyebrows in mock surprise.

"I've already discussed my accommodations with Lord Balin," she mentioned casually, "and they have been resolved to my satisfaction."

"What?"

She turned to him with a smile.

"Do you hold the reins so close that every decision must come through you, my Lord?"

Thorin clenched his jaw tight. This was too much of an echo of Dwalin's words to him earlier.

"You must listen to those around you," Dwalin had said. "Give them a chance to prove themselves and help you at the same time. There's enough on your shoulders without you trying to do everything singlehanded."

He cleared the table before him to make room, and she stepped up and unrolled a stack of parchment. He stared at the picture. The banners had been drawn in a deep rich blue, with gold, white, red and brown. They were different, except for the design in the middle that was a split pattern, completing itself when the two banners were connected: his family crest. One banner showed the skill of the dwarves, their tools, their craft, while the other was richly decorated with the birds of Erebor.

The design was indeed beautiful.

"If it is not to your taste, I will draw you another," she said after a while, breaking the drawn out silence.

"Have I said it is not to my taste?" he demanded. He looked sideways at her and met her startled expression. She was biting her lower lip and his eyes were drawn down to it. He was surprised to see such nervousness in her, since she had never displayed any in his presence. He realized that his scrutiny of her work affected her more than his scrutiny of her person, and the thought made him smile. Her self-worth lay in her craft, not in her looks.

She released her lip and swallowed.

"It will do," he said.

She swallowed again, wide eyed, before her eyes turned stormy.

"It will _do_?" she echoed in disbelief.

He was leaning over the table, his head turned towards her and she was leaning towards him, holding down the edges of the parchment. He was so close he could just reach out and touch her. He wondered if he were to touch her whether she would feel as soft as she had in his dream.

He heard steps at the hall entrance and they both straightened.

"Uncle, I need a word," Kili said, then stopped in his tracks. "Oh, you have company." He looked between them, his frustration clear.

Mistress Aire gathered up the scroll.

"I will leave," she said. "My business with your uncle is finished."

"No, you will stay!" Thorin ordered. "My nephew has nothing to say that he hasn't said before. And I have nothing in response that I haven't already stated."

Kili's jaw tightened painfully. He opened his mouth and shut it, then turned and stormed out of the room.

Thorin turned to Aire. She was rolling up the parchment with calculated movements.

"Mistress Aire, I wish you to make those exact banners for this hall," Thorin said and his words came out as a command rather than the entreaty he was aiming for. She turned to him, her chin raised, her eyes ice cold.

"Do you?" she asked haughtily.

"I do. The pattern is ... appropriate," he finished and kicked himself for his unfortunate use of language.

She glared at him across the table, holding the rolled parchment to her chest.

"As you wish," she bit out and turned on her heel and walked briskly away. When she was halfway down the hall she stopped and turned around.

"You ought to give him what he asks for," she called out.

"What?"

"Your nephew," she clarified. "Or have you forgotten what it is like to be young and in love? Perhaps a man like you has never known the feeling."

"He is in love with a she-elf," Thorin spat. "It is not as easy as you imagine."

"Aye, I hear the she-elf almost gave her life to save his, abandoned her people to be with him. The King under the Mountain may not suffer from dragon sickness any longer, but other diseases ail him."

He walked briskly to her, but she did not cower.

"Are you also a healer, Mistress, that you offer your advice so freely on the King's ailments?"

"Anyone can comment on your blindness," she answered defiantly. "Being King does not give you the right to deny their happiness, to play with their lives according to your prejudices."

"I have not denied them," Thorin shouted. "I've asked them to wait!"

"Aye, and while they wait your leisure and begin to despair, they begin to see you less as family and King, and more as tyrant. Are my words wrong?"

"They are too free, your words," he told her, his face tight with anger. "There are those that may speak this way to me, but you have not earned this right."

His meaning found its mark, and he saw her pull back.

"Perhaps," she said quietly. "And perhaps being King entreats you to hear the opinions of others, even those that have not earned the right, as you put it."

She bowed quickly and left the hall.

Aire walked briskly to her chambers looking neither left not right. Her heart beat hard with anger and embarrassment. She walked to her worktable and started sorting her papers.

"That stubborn, pigheaded dwarf!" she whispered, bewildered, still seeing in her mind's eye Thorin's angry face.

Had she overstepped herself, she wondered? Thorin Oakenshield was not her father. He cared about his nephew. He wanted to give in to him, she had seen that much in his response.

...

When Balin found Thorin half an hour later he was still seething.

"Were the designs not to your liking?" Balin asked wondering at Thorin's volatile reaction as soon as Mistress Aire's name was mentioned.

"The designs were fine," Thorin bit out. "Balin, I want you to take over this business with the banners, until they are completed."

The older dwarf pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. "I thought you wanted to oversee them yourself."

"I am done with them."

"Very well," Balin shuffled his feet and made his way out.

"Balin!" Thorin called after him. "When you see Kili, send him to me." As unsought as they had been, Mistress Aire's words had bothered him. He would not be tyrant to his nephew. He'd lost one of them, he would not lose the other.

A pleased smile crossed the old dwarf's face.

"Aye, I will, laddie."


	4. Chapter 4

So many elves had come! Tauriel held her head up proudly, her eyes swimming with tears. They bowed to her as she passed them, and even Thraiduil gave her a brief nod of his head although his expression was shielded as ever. For Thranduil, that could be considered a kingly blessing, Tauriel thought with a smile. Legolas had not come, but reason told her as he was far gone from Mirkwood, her news had not reached him in time.

She swallowed and looked ahead at the dwarf she was walking towards, the dwarf she had pledged herself and would now be joined to. Kili stood at the head of the hall, looking so very handsome, proud and happy.

His uncle stood beside him, his face unreadable. But he had given his blessing. He had given it, and now she and Kili would pledge themselves to each other before an entire dwarven kingdom. Men and women from Dale were also here, Bard and his family, those that had taken her in, given her a home. They were a new family to her, of sorts.

The dwarf woman beside her squeezed her hand and Tauriel glanced down and echoed her smile.

Dis held her future daughter-in-law's hand as they walked together the length of the hall. The news of her son's unusual attachment had not been easy to receive. But he was her boy and he loved this elf. He owed her his life. And Dis would not withhold any happiness from him. He had received Thorin's blessing, only Mahal knew how! So she bit her tongue and met Tauriel and spoke to her and found that she liked her.

At least Kili was alive and happy. What would she give to breathe life back into her poor boy that lay upstairs in his chamber, clinging between life and death, her poor Fili. Dis' eyes filled with tears and she blinked them away, not wanting to mar this day for her youngest.

As the two women reached the dais, Dis laid Tauriel's hand in Kili's with a Khuzdul blessing. Their height difference jarred her, but they did not seem to mind or notice, so she smiled and shook the thought away.

The King under the Mountain held up his hands and began the ceremony.

...

"I can't believe this is happening," Tauriel whispered in Kili's ear.

Their wedding feast was underway, and after a few rounds of dancing, he had pulled her away and into an alcove away from prying eyes. They had been stared and gawked at the whole day, and although most eyes were friendly or merely curious, there had been some that were not.

"You are my husband," she whispered, letting the words roll on her tongue.

"And you, my wife," he echoed. "Nothing ever felt more right."

She loved his conviction, loved the way it reassured her, made her knees weak. She remembered him months ago, as they were to be parted perhaps forever. He had entreated her to come with him. "I am not afraid," he'd told her, and the words had burned themselves in her heart. His fearlessness made her bold, gave her courage. She loved him and now the whole world could know. They were husband and wife.

She touched her lips to his and felt the fire spread through her veins. It was like this with him always. Always, his lips made her blood sing.

"We could slip away," he whispered, his hand grasping the back of her head, holding her closer.

"'tis too early."

"We've waited long enough."

They ran, laughing, holding hands, to the top floors where their new chambers were. And when he let her in, she gasped and covered her mouth with both hands.

Starlight filled their rooms. High up on the side of the mountain, half of their sloping ceiling wrought in glass, letting in all of it, all the starlight she'd ever longed for beneath the dark Mirkwood canopy.

"I can't believe it," she whispered. "It's beautiful."

"It's our home." He smiled at her.

She walked ahead to the center of the room, her body trembling. She loosened the strings of her dress and let it pool around her feet. She watched his eyes drink her in, watched as he stalked towards her.

"Mahal help me," he whispered before their lips touched and fire burst between them.

...

"I can't find them anywhere," Balin admitted. Thorin waited for a sign of the newlyweds so he could propose a toast, but they were nowhere to be found. A grin settled over Balin's wrinkled face and he chuckled into his white beard.

"What did you expect?"

Thorin found it hard to hold on to his annoyance. He'd been blind to their pain long enough, but was not blind now to their happiness. If theirs had been a dwarf marriage, there would be jokes about their haste to produce offspring. However, their being a union of a dwarf and an elf, any reference to their children was hushed.

He was relieved that they'd managed to avoid any squabbling between the Dwarves of Erebor and the Elves of Mirkwood that day. Thankfully the elves had departed soon after the ceremony, and so there hadn't been enough time for the pleasantries to run out. He'd managed almost a quarter of an hour in Thranduil's company without once losing his temper. They had both been cautious and mindful of the occasion that brought them together.

He wondered how soon his own wedding would follow, and almost grimaced at the thought. He looked towards the head of the table, where the newly arrived entourage from the Iron Hills sat with their mistress, the Lady Daila, cousin to Dain Ironfoot. Thorin clenched his jaw.

She was very lovely, yes, and bore no resemblance to Dain, thank Mahal! She blushed and lowered her eyes every time she was in his presence. She spoke softly and with much diplomacy. Very proper, he had to admit. She would make a suitable Queen, would do her duty and provide him with an heir, and would stay well out of his way. She was a perfect choice.

Thorin shook his head and tried to let his face muscles relax. He knew he was scowling. He raised his glass and the room quieted. As was customary, he toasted the couple with the King's speech and blessing.

The speech was received with laughter and whistles. And once it was done, the musicians picked up their instruments and the guests returned to the dance floor.

"Mistress Aire has offered a viewing on the progress of her work," Balin said casually as they both looked out over the crowd. Thorin's eyes inadvertently sought the object of their discussion amongst the guests.

She was dancing, with Dwalin of all dwarves. She was laughing, and, if Thorin was not mistaken, Dwalin was chuckling in response.

Thorin drew his mouth in a flat line and looked away. He missed Balin's inquiring look.

"What went wrong at your last meeting with Mistress Aire, if I may ask?" Balin asked innocently. "I thought you were getting along well."

"She elected herself Kili's champion and lectured me about my tyrannical rule. Bold words from the lips of one who barely knows me, and has no right to judge."

"Well, that's understandable."

Thorin turned on the older dwarf. "What do you mean by that?"

Balin looked pained. He clasped his hands behind his back and shuffled his feet.

"I shouldn't think ill of her if I were you. I believe her outburst had less to do with judgement of you than you imagine." He flattened his lips in a tight line and tilted his head to the side. "The Lady Aire, as she was known in years past was pledged to marry a dwarf from the Iron Hills, Seli was his name. Her father considered him beneath her. He forbid the match, despite their pleas. Seli left home for Ered Luin."

"Wait," Thorin interrupted him, remembering, "I know of whom you speak." He remembered a young dwarf who'd come from the Iron Hills, and died at the battle for Moria. "He played the lute."

Balin nodded. "A silent, brooding young dwarf. Well, he had his reasons."

"The _Lady_ Aire?"

"Aire, daughter of Lord Alog. They were doing well back in the day. Ring a bell?"

"That stubborn ...," Thorin said a few words in Khuzdul, remembering the old bitter dwarf that had denied him any assistance when he had come asking for help retaking Erebor. "What happened to him?"

"Killed in an orc raid, along with most of his family. With the one exception. Mistress Aire. She turned down Dain's offer of protection. I suppose she didn't want to be the poor distant relation in another household, took up her trade instead and has done very well for herself. Does that help make things clearer?"

"It certainly does," Thorin said absentmindedly.

"Shall I let Mistress Aire know you will be inspecting her work presently?" Balin asked pointedly.

Thorin's brow furrowed. He looked towards the high table where Daila, cousin to Dain Ironfoot, along with her entourage sat.

"No, Balin," Thorin replied, his voice flat. "We will continue as decided. _You_ will inspect the progress on the banners."

Balin followed his gaze and harrumphed.

"You disapprove?" Thorin exclaimed. "You're the one who put this into motion." He gave a curt nod of his head towards the high table to indicate his meaning. He felt an unreasonable anger building in his chest. "I'm the one who is now bound to finish it."

He turned on his heel and left the banquet hall.


	5. Chapter 5

Aire watched the King stalk out of the hall. He looked weary and tired, but she would venture no more unsought advice to the King under the Mountain. Not now, not ever!

"He's got a soft heart, our King," Bofur commented at her elbow.

"Aye, soft like mithril," Aire scoffed.

Dwalin chuckled but said nothing. Bofur grinned at them both and took a swig from his goblet.

"The lady Daila will soften him up," he told Aire, "just wait and see."

"Like a reed softens a boulder!"

Bofur's drink sprayed out of his mouth as he burst into laughter. Dwalin jumped out of the way, but Aire had to dab her dress dry.

As if on cue, Lady Daila rose and retired from the hall.

"Another dance?" Dwalin asked.

"I've had enough for one evening, my Lord Dwalin," she responded coolly. "I thank you for your excellent company. I will go see if I can take these stains out of my dress." She glared at Bofur out of the corner of her eye and saw him grin and toast her in response.

Aire walked out of the hall feeling moderately pleased with the night's festivities. The cool air of the mountain hit her after the warmth of the banquet hall. She shivered and picked up her pace.

She admitted to herself she had entertained a very small hope that the King under the Mountain would let bygones be bygones. That he would use the excuse of the banquet to speak to her again, and their earlier rapport would be restored.

Aire scoffed. If the King were half as stubborn, or if pigs could fly!

She crossed one of the open bridges that spanned the inside of the mountain. All around her, the vast space displayed the glory of dwarven skill. She had loved the mountain as a child, before the dragon had driven them out. She loved to be back to it now.

Lost in thought she didn't see the figure ahead until it was almost too late.

"Mistress Aire," the King's voice broke through her thoughts. She stopped in her tracks with a startled jump.

"My King," she gasped, feeling unprepared, "you startled me."

"Crossing Erebor's bridges lost in thought is a dangerous endeavour," he said conversationally. Aire could only marvel at his sudden civility. "My ancestors did not believe in railings," he added with a smile.

Aire knew her eyes were wide with surprise. She blinked a few times, trying to get a hold of herself.

"And you plan to remedy that?" she asked, clearing her throat.

"With all the children now running around Erebor, perhaps it would be wise. Don't you think?"

Was he asking her opinion?

"Ah, yes," she started, "undoubtedly. Although Your Majesty might find it strenuous."

"Strenuous? How so?" He raised an eyebrow, and his voice was so soft and his stormy blue eyes so earnest.

She couldn't help herself.

"Since you will feel compelled to personally supervise the construction of each one," she joked then pressed her lips together hard to keep from laughing at the look on his face as her meaning sunk in.

She curtsied and brushed past him.

Well, that was well done, she thought to herself. Pigs had taken to flight and she'd shot them down.

...

Once out of the banquet hall, Daila walked swiftly towards her chambers. She'd arrived a week earlier and she still did not feel at ease with the vastness of the mountain. Her interactions with the King had been stifled and uncomfortable. Dain seemed to think the King's invitation heralded an impending proposal, however the King under the Mountain himself had give no indication that he was interested in her at all.

Daila bit her lip and prayed to Mahal that he wasn't. He was not ill looking, but he was much older than her, with a volatile temper and stubborn pride. She knew not how to speak to him. She felt overpowered when in his presence.

Before reaching her rooms, she bid goodnight to her two companions. She made her way up the stair, towards the King's family chambers.

Ever since her arrival she had felt displaced, useless in Thorin's mountain. She was a healer. She could see the King's wounds still plagued him and had offered to tend to them. She'd hoped it would let her know the King more, and perhaps grow to like him better. But Thorin had refused any assistance with such vehemence, as if she had offered to spoon feed him his porridge.

Lord Balin alone had understood. Five days ago, he'd brought her here and asked her to use her skill.

She stopped in front of a tall ornate door. A guard stood outside. He smiled and bowed to her as she let herself in.

The room was dimly lit. She walked quietly towards the large bed at the centre of the chamber. As if her stealth was any use! No sound would wake him. On the bed lay Fili, nephew to the King, lost in a death-like slumber. Yet still he breathed, unwilling to relinquish his hold on life.

Daila rolled her sleeves up and poured a basin of warm water. She crushed some herbs and mixed them in the water, their strong scent filling the room. She checked his wounds. They were healing well. It was the injury to his head that kept him asleep these six months. She dabbed a cloth in the fragrant water and washed his face and forehead.

His face was so peaceful. She wondered what colour his eyes were, wished she would one day see them open. She'd heard many songs and tales about the quest for Erebor and the bravery of the young prince. She knew of his courage and his strength.

She dipped the cloth again and started telling him about her day. She told him of the wedding, and how the bride and groom disappeared much earlier than was customary. She smiled at that and blushed, despite being virtually alone in the room. She wondered how Fili felt about his brother's elven love.

She told him of her isolation and lack of purpose. When she felt tears threatening, she shook herself and started telling him about her home in the Iron Hills.

Hours later, when the clock had struck midnight, she rose from his side and sought her own bed.

...

Thorin lay in his bed contemplating his sudden urge to inspect the progress of his royal banners. He was sure paying good coin for them, why shouldn't he inspect them himself? He was King under the Mountain and would not be browbeaten by Mistress Aire with her dagger eyes and sharp tongue.

He flipped restlessly on his back and stared at the ceiling. He rubbed his hand in circles over his side, the side that ached still with Azog's wound. Sleep would not come.

He was weary of his burdens. Perhaps Kili could oversee the installation of the railings in all the public places. Strenuous, indeed! He scoffed.


	6. Chapter 6

Aire heard the knock and gestured to one of the assistants to get the door. Absorbed in her work, she barely lifted her eyes until she heard a pointed cough and saw his boots beside her work table. Her head snapped up.

"My King," she exclaimed. "I wasn't expecting you."

"You offered a viewing."

"Yes, to Lord Balin." She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was still before breakfast. "This afternoon."

"You think this is too _strenuous_ for me?" Thorin demanded, pacing around the workshop. The room was large and several apprentices worked at tables nearby. They had paused their work and stared apprehensively at the King under the Mountain. At the far end of the room, two large looms were in use, their noise preventing those working there from knowing they had a visitor. One of the dwarven women working on one of the looms sung a song under her breath.

Aire bit her lip to keep from smiling. She gestured to the apprentices nearby to take a break, and they scurried quickly out.

"I am sure Your Majesty has many other important things to worry about."

"Such as the installation of railings?"

He pivoted on the spot and pinned her with his gaze. Aire wondered briefly if he was teasing her or just setting her up.

"Kili can handle that," he said before she could muster an answer.

"You've given the work to him?" Aire wished she had expressed a little less amazement.

Thorin frowned and stroked his beard. "I will." He paused. "Once he emerges from his rooms." He looked up at the clock on her wall. "Shouldn't be long now." He looked up surprised to hear Aire laugh.

"I wouldn't bet on it."

Thorin's eyebrows went up.

"I'd send someone with a tray of food for them, if I were you, and I wouldn't hold my breath."

She turned back to her work, feeling her cheeks flush and unwilling to let him see that. She heard his steps and then felt him standing behind her.

"I thought you'd be working on the banners," he commented. His eyes roamed around the workshop searching for them.

"You think I have no business other than yours?"

He grumbled some intelligible. "Is this for yourself?"

"This is a dress for the Lady Daila." She heard his intake of breath.

"Does the Lady Daila not have sufficient dresses?"

"Her cousin commissioned it."

Thorin stared down at the material over Aire's shoulder. It was white and gauzy and had an alarming amount of lace. A horrifying thought crossed his mind.

"What business has Dain Ironfoot commissioning dresses in _my_ Mountain!" he bit out, feeling a wave or outrage wash over him. He had invited the Lady Daila for a _visit_. He had not proposed matrimony to her yet. What nerve did Dain Ironfoot have? An image of Dain from his dream months ago came to him, dressed in wedding finery. He felt nausea rise in his chest.

"This is a summer dress that dwarvish ladies wear on afternoon walks in mixed company."

Thorin stared at her uncomprehending.

"She has opportunity to walk into Dale," Aire clarified. "With humans and possibly elves about. Dain wished her to be appropriately attired."

"Mahal preserve us!"

"Don't think that means Dain does not still expect you to marry his cousin," she pointed out sharply.

Thorin clasped his hands behind his back and stared at her. Her expression was inscrutable.

"And this is common knowledge?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Under the Mountain and in Dale." She shrugged. Her voice was business like, devoid of emotion. "You invited her here. What did _you_ expect?"

She met his scowl without blinking.

"Will you look at the banners?" she asked abruptly.

"No! Lord Balin will."

"Very well." Her voice was icy.

They heard a voice calling down the corridor, getting louder. The door burst open and Bofur came flying through it. Thorin took in the dwarf's dishevelled appearance and felt a shiver of dread slither up his spine.

"What's happened?"

"Balin told me I'd find you here. Thorin! He's awake! Fili is awake."

...

Thorin rushed up the stairs, the pain of his wounds forgotten. He burst through the doors in his nephew's rooms and found both his sister and the Lady Daila sitting by the bed.

Half reclining and supported by pillows, looking weak and diminished, but undoubtedly awake, lay Fili. Thorin's eyes met his nephew's and he felt tears of joy fall down his cheeks into his beard.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, and one by one the dwarves of the old company spilled in and gathered around his bed. Fili smiled weakly at them.

"Someone go wake his brother!" Thorin said.

"Already done," Balin informed him, stepping through the door with Kili and Tauriel behind him.

Kili rushed to his brother' bedside, the Lady Daila moving away to give him room.

"Fili! You've come back to us," he whispered, brushing his brother's forehead gently. "I thought I'd lost you. I have never been happier."

"I hear I missed your wedding, brother," Fili said weakly.

Kili leaned down and kissed his brother's forehead. He looked back towards Tauriel and held out his hand to her. She came to stand beside her husband and smiled tentatively down at Fili.

"We could get married again once you're well," Kili said with a grin.

"Attention seeker," his brother mumbled, but reached his hand out to Tauriel's and clasped it. "I now have a sister," he said. Tauriel's eyes filled with tears and she smiled gratefully at him.

"Enough, now," Dis ordered. "All of you, out! He needs his rest."

Once ushered out into the hallway, the company disbanded. Kili and Balin stayed behind with Thorin and followed him to the hall.

"I need to speak to you, Uncle," Kili began. "It's about Tauriel."

Thorin sat down heavily in one of the gilded chairs around his work table. He sighed.

"Well, let's hear it."

Kili shuffled his feet.

"You know she is well trained. She was captain of the guard in Mirkwood."

Balin stood aside and watched the exchange.

"Well?" Thorin prompted Kili to continue.

"Well, I know she will feel the need for some purpose. She is not one to be idle, and I don't want her to feel unneeded. I thought perhaps she could be part of the King's guard."

Thorin watched his nephew, his head tilted down, his right hand stroking across his beard.

"Is that what she wishes?"

Kili's body tensed. "She didn't ask for it herself, but I know her." He balled his hands into fists. "If you're suspicious that ..." he started, spoiling for a fight.

Thorin put up a hand to silence the outburst and shook his head. He stood and walked to his nephew, placing his hands on his shoulders.

"I gave my blessing to your union in good conscience," he began. "It has taken me time to see it, but I now have. I don't suspect Tauriel of anything. If it is what she wishes, get Dwalin to commission her some armour. A mithil coat at least, and she can use her own weapons if she prefers."

"Uncle," Kili exclaimed, "I don't know what to say."

"A thank you would suffice."

Kili smiled and bowed his head.

"Thank you, uncle!"

"Since you're here, Kili, there's something that I need your help with," Thorin said, turning to his table and digging for the drawings. "A project I am hoping you would oversee. It's not terribly exciting, but I've got too much on my plate already. It would help me if you would."

"Of course, Uncle," Kili said, his face brightening.

Ten minutes later, Thorin watched him go. He heard Balin clear his throat.

"You're getting there, laddie. You're getting there."

Thorin sat down in his chair and sighed.


	7. Chapter 7

"Ready?" Balin asked with a smile and a wink.

Thorin nodded impatiently. Dis, Kili, Fili and the Lady Daila stood behind him. Bain gave the two guards a nod and they pushed the doors of the great hall open and Thorin walked in.

All traces of the gold on the floor had been removed. Thorin had seen to it himself. The gold had gone out to Lake Town and Dale, every little bit of it, above and beyond that which had been promised, and Thorin was glad to see it gone.

He stepped further into the hall. Sunlight streamed in from windows high above, and at the end of the hall, on both sides of the King's seat, hung two tapestries of rich blue, embroidered in gold, red, white and brown.

And they were magnificent.

At the foot of the King's seat, stood Mistress Aire, her hands clasped in front of her, her face neutral, eyes fixed on Thorin's.

Thorin heard behind him his sister's intake of breath.

"They are wonderful," she whispered. She smiled towards Mistress Aire, who in turn bowed her head to hide her pleasure. When she raised her eyes again, they were fixed once more on Thorin.

"Yes, they seem alright," he declared and watched her eyes narrow dangerously.

Complaints sounded behind him, and everyone, except the Lady Daila, started speaking at once, trying to convince Thorin to take his insipid compliment back.

He stood unmoved, but a smile tugged up the corners of his lips. Mistress Aire looked more furious than ever to be teased this way. He could not help himself. He liked the way her eyes flamed when she was furious.

Two months had passed since Fili had regained consciousness. Thorin was glad to see his nephew gaining strength daily, slowly growing into his old self. The Lady Daila had tended to him well, and for that she would always have Thorin's gratitude, if nothing else.

Thoughts of Lady Daila made Thorin frown. Fili's recovery may have saved him from the responsibility of providing an heir, but in Thorin's eyes, and he well knew, in Dain's, an understanding had already been agreed on. He would have to carry it through, despite the change in his circumstances. The thought weighed on Thorin's mind like a dark cloud. He'd delayed as much as he could.

Running footsteps echoed at the hall's entrance and one of the sentries came through and bowed.

"Dain Ironfoot has arrived, My Lord."

Thorin felt the noose tighten around his neck. He closed his eyes and passed a hand briefly over his forehead. He turned to Mistress Aire. The time for teasing was over.

"Mistress, I am well pleased with your work," he said earnestly. He saw her eyes widened in shock. Her very lovely eyes. He brushed the thought away. "The tapestries are beautifully made, and I am proud to have your work displayed in my hall."

Her lips had parted slightly as he spoke.

"Balin will see that you receive the agreed payment."

He was dismissing her. Dain's arrival was family business. Her eyes flitted over to where the lady Daila stood, pale faced as a ghost.

Aire bowed and swept out of the hall without a word.

Thorin felt a fist close around his heart. He grit his teeth and turned to meet his cousin from the Iron Hills.

...

A banquet was arranged that night in honour of Dain's arrival. Thorin sat at the head of the table and watched Balin talking to Dain, with little taste for conversation himself. Kili, Tauriel and Dis were seated a little further away, and were enjoying a laugh together. Daila sat quietly, barely touching her food, and Fili looked weary and tense. Thorin thought his wounds must be giving him grief tonight.

He let his mind drift to the morning's conversation with Dain. The Iron Hills dwarf wasted no time getting to the heart of the matter. What, he wanted to know, was delaying the announcement of Thorin's engagement with the Lady Daila? Every month she stayed in Erebor set tongues wagging. He made it quite clear that if she returned unwed to the Iron Hills, her relatives, who had set such stock by the vague rumour of an engagement, would be very disappointed, and Daila's reputation would suffer.

Thorin felt the anger rise once again in his chest when he remembered all the nonsense Dain had sprouted. He'd survived for so many years, driven from his home, enduring so many hardships, then returning to claim the mountain, besting the wretched dragon sickness, living through the battle that followed, and now, he had to yield to a webbed net of rumour and gossip?

He felt well and truly caught. The fist around his heart squeezed tighter. He glanced at Daila. He felt nothing for her.

She would never speak her mind to him, never stand up to him.

Not like Mistress Aire with her sharp tongue would.

The thought made him start.

"Thorin, my lad," Balin said leaning towards him. Dain was at present occupied speaking to Dis. "There was a small matter I was not able to resolve with Mistress Aire. I was hoping you could see to it before the night is done."

"Surely it can wait until morning."

Balin was hesitant. "It's my fault for not telling you sooner," he started, "but I think the matter needs to be settled tonight."

Thorin's brows drew together and he fixed Balin with his most piercing stare. Balin looked mischief free and completely unaware of Thorin's suspicious gaze as he helped himself to another leg of mutton, and leaned in to resume his conversation with Dain. Thorin exhaled heavily and rose from his seat.

"I have a small matter to attend to," he explained when inquiring eyes rose to his.

He made his way out of the banqueting hall and down the mountain towards Aire's workshop. He stood frozen at the door for what seemed like hours until he brought his hand up to knock.

There was no response. He knocked again then tried the door. It was locked.

Perhaps it was for the best. Balin could sort it out in the morning.

A door opened further down the hall and Aire stuck her head out. She was in her dressing gown, her hair braided loosely down one shoulder.

"My Lord," she exclaimed. "What is it that you need?"

"I hadn't realized it was so late," he stammered, taking in her appearance. "Balin said," he paused and swallowed, "Balin mentioned that there was a matter that needed settling."

Her expression was inscrutable. Her brow furrowed. "Lord Balin is a meddler," she declared. "He could have relayed my message to you himself. But seeing as you _are _here... Will you come in?" and she stepped slightly back to make room for him.

Thorin glanced from her to her door with rising trepidation. He shouldn't do this.

His feet started moving forward and his body followed.

Her rooms were pleasant and well lit. He stepped into what he realized was an antechamber, a large receiving room. He stood stiffly, waiting for her to speak. She seemed uncharacteristically tongue-tied. She moistened her lips and tightened the belt on her robe.

"I understand that these are private matters concerning your family, My Lord," she began tentatively, "but I am under the impression that what I have to say would not be unwelcome. If it is, I am sure you will have no problem telling me so." Her eyes rose to meet his, and her usually straight forward manner returned a little.

"Indeed," he intoned.

"I believe that an unspoken understanding was born when the Lady Daila was invited to Erebor."

Thorin shifted uncomfortably. So this was where the conversation was headed. He nodded.

"And that Dain Ironfoot is here to make the unspoken understanding ..., ah, spoken." He huffed out a breath. That was one way to put it.

"It is my impression that while you never wished personally for the arrangement, you are now also relieved from the duty that pre-empted you to consider it."

"Damn it, woman, what are you trying to say?" he snapped. "Out with it before I lose my patience!"

"I'm saying that you now feel obligated to wed the Lady Daila, despite her being a terrible match for you."

"And what makes you judge of that?"

"Any fool can see how intimidated she is beside you."

"Perhaps that is the appropriate response when in the presence of her King."

Aire scoffed. "Will you let me get to the point?" she demanded. Thorin shut his mouth and scowled at her. "Fili is back amongst the living and you no longer need to worry about providing your people with another heir. Your ... unspoken agreement with Dain need not go any further. In fact, it shouldn't."

"Easier said than done," he heard himself say.

"No! Easily said and easily done!" she said with a smile. "Have you not noticed how withdrawn Fili has been of late?"

"His wounds bother him."

"Who has nursed Fili back to health these past two months? Have you not seen them together?" She paused to gauge his reaction. "Thorin Oakenshield, how blind can you be that you have not noticed how Daila lights up when she's with your nephew, or how much better he looks when she is tending him? Must you be diagnosed with blindness once more?"

Thorin stared at her open mouthed.

"And this is common knowledge?"

"To those that have eyes!" she snapped. "Apparently that excludes you and Dain Ironfoot. So before you two plan anything that more than yourselves would regret, I suggest having a chat with Fili."

Thorin paced the length of her sitting room while his thoughts raced. For the first time in months he felt a great weight lift off his shoulders. If only what Aire said was true. If only. He stopped abruptly and rushed to the door. He stood there, with his hand on the handle and turned to her.

"You are welcome," she said pointedly.

"We'll see," was all he said in response as he flew out the door.


	8. Chapter 8

The bride wore an elaborate gown of rich blue brocade. She looked ethereal and blissfully happy and so she should, people thought, as she would one day be Queen under the Mountain. Dis walked at her side, holding her hand, and when they reached the dais, she placed Daila's trembling hand in Fili's and spoke her blessing.

And Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, stepped up and began the ceremony.

The wedding feast ran late into the night.

Kili elbowed his brother in the ribs and leaned towards him. "You really need to get out of here," he whispered. "It's long past midnight, and your bride looks exhausted."

"It is not too soon?" Fili whispered back. "What would people think?"

Kili burst into laughter. "It is a good thing then that you missed our wedding. Tauriel and I were gone before the last course arrived."

Fili looked at his brother, an expression of mild horror in his eye. "Before the last course?" he mouthed. "How are you not disinherited?" He glanced at Daila who was indeed pale with fatigue and then pulled Kili closer. "You've convinced me," he told his brother. "Cover for us, will you?"

"Consider it done!"

...

Thorin extracted himself from between Dain and Dis at the table and scanned the hall. He'd seen Mistress Aire dancing earlier, with Bofur, and then with Dwalin, and again with Bofur, and after with what looked like one of Dain's guardsmen.

Thorin stopped himself and almost growled. Inventorying her dancing partners was beneath him. He needed to speak to her about business.

"If it's Mistress Aire you're after," Kili tittered in his ear, "I saw her slip out the door not a minute ago."

Thorin glared at him.

"Has your brother gone yet?"

"Yes, finally! I thought they'd never get out of here. As if they were planning to stay 'till morning!"

"As is appropriate for a dwarvish wedding," Thorin said pointedly.

Kili shrugged and grinned, and took off to find his lady wife and drag her laughing to the dance floor.

Thorin turned on his heel and stalked out the door. He walked further out towards the heart of the Mountain and looked out over the bridges that spanned the wide empty space. There was no sign of Mistress Aire. He wondered if it would be too late to drop by her workshop. It was business, after all.

He turned and then he saw her. She was leaning against one of the newly constructed railings, staring at the glow of the furnaces below.

"Inspecting for structural integrity?" he asked when her head turned and she saw him.

She looked bewildered for just one moment before she pulled back and taking a hold of the railing with one hand, pretended to give it a thorough shake.

"I don't know," she said with mock thoughtfulness, "it seems a little loose. Perhaps you should have it inspected. You don't know if a thing's done well, unless you do it yourself!"

He almost growled.

"Taking a break from all the dancing?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"As far as you know, I may not have danced at all this evening."

"Hardly," he muttered.

"Is there anything in particular I can help you with?"

"A shirt!" he declared.

"What?"

"I need a shirt. Perhaps two."

"This is your business with me, at three in the morning, on the night of your nephew's wedding? You need shirts."

"Yes."

Her eyes were the size of saucers. She wet her lips, and he thought it was the most bewitching sight he had seen since the Arkenstone.

"I will send one of my apprentices to you in the morning," she finally declared.

"What! Whatever for?"

"For measurements."

"I don't want your dratted apprentice!"

"It's called delegating. I can't possibly do everything myself."

She was laughing at him and it should have made him very angry. But for the life of him he couldn't stop staring at her lips.

"I don't want to be measured by some apprentice." He took a step closer to her. "What does it consist of anyway?"

"The circumference of your waist and chest," she began, "as well as ..."

"Well, can't you do that yourself?" he asked, his voice suddenly very soft.

When had he come to stand so close, Aire wondered? She felt the railing come up behind her. There was nowhere to retreat to. Those stormy blue eyes stared into hers. A grey shirt with would bring those eyes out very nicely.

Without her consent, her gaze fell to his chest. Perhaps she _would_ take his measurements herself! Her cheeks flushed and her eyes jumped back to his.

"Something like this?" he asked. She had no idea what he was talking about. Then his hands were on her waist, spanning it from front to back, pulling her closer. She didn't think there was any more space left between them.

"Except with measuring tape," she corrected.

His mouth curved and his eyes turned tender. "Are you finding fault with my technique?"

"If measurements are your purpose, your technique is deplorable." She bit her lip but couldn't suppress a laugh. He smiled back at her, his eyes roaming over her laughing face.

"No," he whispered, suddenly serious once more. "No, I have a very different purpose in mind."

...

Kili and Tauriel walked out of the banquet hall, their hands clasped together. Tauriel was still laughing over the hog-dance that Dain Ironfoot had just finished demonstrating with Dwalin. Being both more than a little inebriated, they had required some occasional propping up from their audience.

"That was spectacular," Kili laughed. "There should be songs written about it! It's too bad Fili wasn't around for it. Or maybe it's a good thing. He might have cracked a rib laughing."

"How am I going to look Dwalin in the eye in the morning?" Tauriel bemoaned.

"Simple! Good morning, Captain! I was much impressed by your footwork last night."

Tauriel laughed. "He'll take me off Dale patrol and have me assigned to the mines. I won't see daylight in months."

"Perhaps you could get him to teach it to you?"

"I did not think it was possible to move quite like that."

"I thought elves were lithe," Kili said with a wink. "What, Thranduil couldn't do the hog dance?"

Tauriel's eyes widened with horror. Kili waggled his eyebrows at her, and she finally burst into guilty laughter. "Is nothing sacred to you?"

"The hog dance, certainly!"

He pulled her close and kissed her smiling lips.

"This," he spoke against her lips, suddenly serious. "This is sacred to me." He rested his forehead on hers and heard her contented sigh. "Let's go home!" She nodded.

They came to a turn and Tauriel suddenly stopped.

"Shh," she cautioned, pulling Kili back. "See there! A pair of lovers kissing on the bridge. Let us not disturb them."

But Kili was staring with his mouth hanging open.

"By Mahal, isn't that my uncle?"

"And Mistress Aire!"

"I didn't know uncle could do that!"

Tauriel covered her mouth to muffle her giggles. "This night has revealed many of your kin's hidden talents."

"Fili's going to kick himself for missing this!"

"Shh," she whispered urgently. "Not so loud. Let us go around. I do not want your uncle yelling at us tonight."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: And we've come to the end! I think Thorin can handle things from now on, don't you? He seems to be on the right track. And if he gets into trouble again, I'm sure Aire will point him in the right direction.<strong>

**As for Kili and Tauriel, I imagine they both fight in the Northern Theatre of the War of the Ring almost eighty years later, alongside the Dwarves of Erebor and Iron Hills, the Men of Dale, and the Elves of Mirkwood. And I read this in someone else's story and loved the idea (can't remember whose, but all the credit goes to them) – that they sail together to the Undying Lands with Legolas and Gimli after the death of Aragorn, and so are never parted.**

**Thank you everyone for your awesome reviews and comments. Loved every one of them! I did the hog dance every time a review, favourite or follow came in! (What _is_ the hog dance, you ask? You'll just have to ask Dwalin to show you.)**


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